


The Making of Andrew

by krith



Category: Sherlock - Fandom
Genre: BDSM, D/s power dynamics, F/M, Genderbending, Genderfuck, M/M, Other, Top Mycroft Holmes, masculinization, nullification
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:42:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,278
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27353662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krith/pseuds/krith
Summary: Please note that this work is incomplete and abandoned! I absolutely will not be finishing it. However, what exists is pretty substantial, and kind of interesting, so may be worth a look for some Mythea shippers, since there's not much out there.This is some weird and kinky shit. Gay, dominant, confident Mycroft and submissive, femme Anthea with a nullification fetish come to an arrangement.Originally written March 2016.
Relationships: Anthea/Mycroft Holmes
Kudos: 11
Collections: Krith's Mycroft/Anthea fic





	The Making of Andrew

**Author's Note:**

> I will be posting some of the better of my old, abandoned Mycroft fics as part of a larger project about fanfiction that I'm working on. While I always appreciate comments, I also know the pain of an incomplete fic, so I want to be transparent that no amount of begging will get me to resume work on these fics. I hope their quantity and quality may partially make up for their incomplete-ness.

The evening light had faded an hour previously when Andrea looked up from her desk, surprised to find Mr. Holmes standing over her with her bag and her coat slung over his arm along with his own umbrella.

“Come along, Andrea,” he said with a distracted air. “The reservation is for eight.”

Accustomed to obeying him without question, Andrea was on her feet and following him to the car in spite of the fact that she hadn’t known that she was accompanying him to dinner tonight. She’d planned to stay at the office for another couple of hours, and had hoped to see Mr. Holmes off for the evening some time before that. 

He seemed preoccupied, though, so Andrea didn’t attempt to ferret out what was happening or otherwise engage him in conversation on the ride over. Charley pulled up to the kerb in front of Palermo, which was one of Mr. Holmes’ favorite restaurants and was Andrea’s own first choice. She smiled, pleased that if he needed her to play sounding board about something tonight, at least she was going to get some  _ excellent _ seafood out of it.

“Right this way, Mr. Holmes.” The maitre d’ was tall and dark-skinned, with a lovely lilt to her voice. Andrea was shocked when she led them to one of the private dining alcoves, which was so bedecked with garlands of ivy and irises that they had complete privacy.

Irises were Andrea’s favorite flower.

She looked over at her employer with curiosity, and found him watching her with an unreadable expression on his face. She offered him an uncertain smile as he pulled out her chair and seated her. The next thing that she noticed was Bach’s first cello suite filling their alcove, but before she had time to say anything, the sommelier approached with a bottle of chardonnay that made Andrea’s mouth water. She knew that Mr. Holmes was more of a sauvignon blanc man. 

Bach was her favorite composer. She knew that Mr. Holmes always selected Mozart when he dined here alone. 

Andrea unfolded her napkin and lay it across her lap, bewildered. Mr. Holmes was still watching her closely, and there was no way to pretend that she didn’t suddenly, unexpectedly feel as if she were on a date. Except that, well, that was stupid, and obviously untrue.

The corner of his mouth quirked upward as he watched her. 

“Sir, all of this really wasn’t --”

“Shh.” He waved his fingers at her, and she subsided. That was… unusually presumptuous, even for him.

He lifted his glass and took a sip. “You do recall what today is,” he said in his precise manner, eyes fixed on her face.

Andrea fingered the stem of her own wineglass. “Yes, sir. It’s been five years.”  _ … but all of this? _ she didn’t add.

He inclined his head. “That’s correct. Five years. Did you know, Miss O’Sullivan, that the longest I was ever able to retain a personal assistant before you was less than five weeks?”

She smiled at his rueful tone. “Is that a fact, sir? I would think I would have discovered that at some point.”

He swirled the wine in his glass a bit. “You would have, but I went to some lengths to hide the fact from you.”

“You did?” She wasn’t entirely sure what to say to that. Why would he have cared if she knew how easy it was for him to drive grown human beings to tears? She’d found out for herself soon enough. As a witness, that was… he’d never shown the slightest discourtesy to her, not even in moments of extreme stress.

“I did.” He paused. “I knew what an extraordinary asset you were within the first week, and I was determined to keep you from finding out about my abysmal history.”

Andrea found herself studying him anew in the wake of this confession. She entertained the idea that this wasn’t anything more than it appeared to be -- her boss was taking her to dinner to celebrate her anniversary in his employment. Palermo, fair enough, though he’d never done anything like it and it was quite contrary to his often-expressed feelings of contempt regarding  _ sentiment _ . 

But the lilies? The Mozart? It was all so extravagant, and so… well, romantic. None of which made an iota of sense.

He was smiling at her again, that awful knowing smirk. It was then that Andrea realized that at some point in the evening, she had started to become truly nervous. She smiled back at him, hoping, almost certainly in vain, that he couldn’t tell.

This time, when she opened her mouth, he simply held up a finger. She paused, the words trapped on her tongue.

“For the rest of our meal, I would like you to limit yourself to answering my questions. Nothing else. Do you understand me?” He stared into her eyes as he said this, his voice low but full of a strange intensity.

“I… understand, sir.” Her voice nearly cracked as the horrifying thought crossed her mind that perhaps she had done something terrible without realizing it, or perhaps he  _ believed _ that she had done something terrible. Perhaps he was about to flay her alive, and she didn’t even know for what.

He waved a hand at her again. “No,” he responded to her thoughts, which was something he did on a daily basis, so it no longer startled her. “You aren’t in any trouble, my dear. It will simply please me to be in unilateral control of our topic of conversation.”

_ Please. Control _ . He put a subtle emphasis on the words, and his eyes flickered briefly down to her mouth as he said them.

“Yes, sir,” Andrea said, and was chagrined to hear how small her voice came out. She sounded submissive, and utterly unlike herself even when she was deferring to him.

Mr. Holmes wore a look of deep satisfaction as he regarded her. She shifted in her chair beneath that regard, unable to help herself, knowing that she was only making matters worse. She was absolutely flummoxed by the fact that he was sitting here openly pushing her buttons.

Oh, that smile that he was wearing this evening. She’d never seen one quite like it on him before, and Andrea was almost certain that that was because it was the smile that he saved for the beautiful young submissive  _ men _ who occasionally struck his fancy.

So what the hell was  _ that _ smile doing in this alcove in Palermo? In five years, Mr. Holmes had never shown her so much of a hint of interest. Andrea took a deep breath, frustrated that she had no way to discover the answer to her questions.

A server arrived with their first course, and Mr. Holmes left them both in silence for a moment as he distributed the oysters between their two plates, obviously expecting her to go along with whatever he liked. 

In a gentlemanly fashion, he waited for her to take her first bite before he joined her, and between them they made short, silent work of the hor d’oeuvre. She was too nervous and confused to have much of an appetite, but the food was so exquisite that she found her half was gone as quickly as his. Uncomfortably, he paused repeatedly to watch her eat, clearly fascinated by the slide of the oyster into her mouth and the glistening of the butter on her lips.

Andrea dabbed demurely at her mouth with her napkin, feeling no less exposed after tidying. Again his lips curved upward, and her stomach tightened in anticipation as she realized that he was about to speak.

“How long ago was your last sexual relationship with a man?”

Jesus, what  _ was _ this? She blinked at him, gathering the fragments of her composure back together as quickly as she could.

“Three years,” she said awkwardly, putting her hands in her lap now that they were between courses, unsure of what else to do with them.

“I see.” His eyes moved over her, assessing. “But it hasn’t been three years since you’ve had sex, has it?”

Andrea swallowed. “Er. No, sir.”

“How long then?”

She closed her eyes. Surely, with his powers of observation, he already knew the answer to this? But he was staring at her with an expectant gaze, so she saw no way around it.

“Tuesday, sir,” she mumbled.

Of course he didn’t look surprised.

“Tuesday,” he echoed thoughtfully, then took a slow sip of his wine, studying her over the rim of his glass. “Tuesday. Four days ago. You didn’t leave Whitehall until almost eleven at night on Tuesday. Whom did you meet that night?”

He could easily have found out the answer to that. She knew that he could easily have found out the answer, and he knew that she knew. His asking had to be some sort of a game -- for some reason, what he wanted was not simply the answer to these questions, but to hear her answer them herself.

She steeled herself, putting aside her confusion and focusing on him instead. She turned her attention to the crispness of his shirt... to the tang of his cologne in the air... to the shine of his grey eyes, watching her, waiting for her answer. It helped her to focus, and was something she did whenever she was confused or embarrassed in his presence. Which fortunately, before tonight, hadn’t been frequent.

“I usually keep three or four different men on call who I find suitable,” she explained. “The gentleman that I visited on Tuesday is named Lawrence.”

He tilted his head. “And you went to Lawrence’s residence... is that your usual procedure?”

Andrea knew she looked offended. “Of course, sir. I don’t tell men where I live.”

“Very good, I suppose.” A hint of a smile curved his lips as he studied her. He didn’t seem at all disapproving, merely curious. “What did you do with him, or allow him to do to you? Be specific, please.”

What was she doing, going along with this? What was  _ he _ doing?

“I -- I performed fellatio on him, and then we had intercourse.” She forced herself to say the words calmly, but couldn’t do anything about the blush on her cheeks.

“What kind of intercourse?” He was staring at her levelly.

She swallowed hard against a click in her throat. “Anal intercourse, sir,” she said tightly.

He didn’t even bother to look as if she were telling him something that he didn’t already know. It was not infrequently embarrassing, working for a man who knows everything. “Did you also have vaginal intercourse?”

She knew that no one could overhear them, but it was still terrifying to say these things aloud. “No, sir.” She reluctantly added, “I don’t like vaginal intercourse.”

He sat forward slightly, his eyes locked on hers. “And why is that?”

She licked her lips, refusing to drop her gaze. He shouldn’t ask such questions if he didn’t want to hear the real answers, she reflected nervously.

“Because vaginal intercourse is pleasurable for me. I’ve found that plenty of men prefer the tightness and -- and the taboo, I suppose, of anal intercourse with a pretty woman. I also usually choose men who are… endowed enough to ensure that anal sex will be painful for me. It’s better that way, if I know that it’s solely for my partner’s pleasure.”

Andrea was no Holmes, but even in the dimness of their private alcove she could see that his pupils were dilated. There was only a narrow rim of stormy grey.

“That’s… an interesting answer,” Mr. Holmes said thoughtfully. “And just how often do you pay one of your gentlemen a call?”

“In the last few years, every two weeks or so, when there’s time.”

His next question sounded casual, but she knew him well and she had the sense that he actually had a great deal invested in her answer. “And just how long has it been since you last had vaginal intercourse?”

Andrea frowned, calculating. “I believe it’s been almost a decade now, sir.”

He looked pleased at her answer. Then he gestured at the attendant who waited out of earshot and again left them in silence for a bit as their next course was served. Andrea knew his tactics well. He timed courses to give him time to digest especially critical pieces of information before proceeding on a carefully calculated offensive.

She had an increasing suspicion about what his goal might be, and found an unexpected fear and arousal tightening low in her belly. She wondered if his incredible sense of smell could detect exactly how turned on she was from her scent in spite of the perfume of lilies filling the air.

He gave her a smile that was as good as an answer.  _ Damn _ his mind-reading skills.

The french onion soup was sublime, and Andrea allowed it to distract her from her tense musings about her employer’s intentions and perceptions. He gave them plenty of time to savor the course, then placed his spoon on the table and sat back again to look at her.

“My next questions are quite personal, and I’d like you to be as honest with me as possible. As an erotically submissive woman, do you like working for a man as domineering as I am?”

There was no way that she could look at him and answer this question. She dropped her gaze to the tabletop. “It’s my preference, sir. I believe that it contributes to overall efficiency, don’t you?”

He made a sound of agreement. “And you have a fairly complete idea of my own sexual preference and predilections, given that you manage my calendar and my life. You are aware that for my own bedmates I select young men who are as profoundly submissive as you yourself are?”

Again, there was no way not to blush. “Yes, I know that, sir,” she said.

He cleared his throat and stared at her. “It occurs to me lately that there’s an appealing way to simplify both of our lives, Andrea.”

She forced herself to look at him now, wondering what she was going to see. What she saw was hooded desire. It was startling in its unexpectedness.

“I… didn’t think that I was exactly to your taste in that regard, Mr. Holmes,” she said, carefully.

Her statement amused him. “Submissive and beautiful? Aren’t you exactly to my taste?” he asked wryly.

It was true that he favored young men so beautiful that some of them could have posed as models for Donatello’s David. Mr. Holmes still seemed to be overlooking an important detail. But then, she rethought what he’d been questioning her about. He looked satisfied that she had caught up to where he wanted her. He drummed his fingers on the tabletop for a moment, and she knew that he was considering whether it was time for his final play or not.

“Andrea.”

Apparently so.

“Yes, sir?”

“Why do you prefer that intercourse bring you no pleasure?”

She licked her lips, staring at him, considering various answers.

“The truth, please, my dear,” he said, interrupting her calculations.

She cleared her throat. “I’m sorry, sir. I’m just not quite sure how to explain this.”

He raised his eyebrows at her, clearly prepared to wait all night. She fingered the stem of her wineglass.

“I have a fetish,” she finally said, “for… nullification.” She cleared her throat, uncomfortable now that she’d said this aloud. “It’s better for me when my pleasure is irrelevant.”

Mr. Holmes took a moment to consider this, during which he gestured for the next course. A lamb risotto was placed before them, and he took his time relishing the first few bites before continuing.

“Nullification,” he mused thoughtfully, his eyes moving over her in a way that made her skin tingle. “I find myself wondering, my dear, if this… fetish of yours would extend to the nullification of your very gender.”

Andrea bit hard on her lower lip, horrified and aroused in a mix that made her nauseous with anxiety. Mr. Holmes read every bit of it on her face as if it were a memorandum.

“Yes, that  _ does _ work, doesn’t it? In fact, it works so well that you don’t want to even admit it.” He narrowed his eyes, then abruptly he ceased studying her and returned his attention to his entree.

He didn’t seem inclined to continue to speak after that, leaving Andrea to stew in her own reactions to the conversation as well as every thought that she was forced to leave unsaid and question unanswered by his usurpation of the conversation. She supposed that that was part of his plan, if the amused look that she found on his face every time she caught him watching her was anything to go by.

After that, they finished their meal in silence, though Mr. Holmes wasn’t to be rushed in his appreciation of each course. Andrea barely tasted the food, wondering what was in store after dinner.

She was quite used to moving about with him in silence as she attended him throughout his workdays, so there was nothing remarkable about him wordlessly escorting her to the car and having Charley take them back to his Pall Mall apartments. It wouldn’t even cause the staff to talk for her to accompany him home at this hour. Five years at his beck and call certainly provided a cover for all-hours access to her without any boundaries.

Mr. Holmes triple locked the door behind him and turned on his heel, his eyes going to her where she stood, quite still and shaking lightly as she waited to see what would happen next.

With a look of self-satisfied anticipation her employer approached her and took her coat, then hung it along with his own neatly in the hall closet. She’d been here hundreds of time, so there was nothing for her to comment upon even if she’d known whether she was allowed to speak now. He approached her again and took her hand, stepping into her personal space, capturing her gaze with his own.

“You needn’t look quite so nervous, my dear. I think that you’re going to find that you  _ like _ the things which I intend to do to you tonight.” His voice was nearly a whisper, and he traced her cheek with long fingers. Her heart was pounding with desire, her panties an absurd slick. 

Then he was leading her into the bedroom.

She’d been here before as well, taking orders on the rare occasions when he was too ill or indisposed to get out of bed to run the country, or bringing him coffee when they’d had a late night but couldn’t avoid an early morning.

“I’d like you to lie down in the centre of the bed, on your back please,” he leaned over and murmured into her ear.

He didn’t say anything about removing her dress and Andrea knew that Mr. Holmes gave orders exactly as he meant them to be obeyed, so with a deep breath she did as he asked, then stared at the ceiling as she awaited his next move.

He glided over to the drawer of the bedside table, from which he drew several lengths of luxurious black silk. He slipped the fabric over itself into a tension loop and slid it over her wrist, situating it just so above her pulse point. Then he tied the ends down to an attachment point out of her sight somewhere on the frame of the bed.

Andrea struggled to keep her breathing even as he proceeded to give this treatment to each limb in turn, in the end leaving her quite helpless. She gave her bonds some experimental tugs and felt certain that there wasn’t anything that she could do to wriggle out of them short of being willing to injure herself.

She looked up to find him standing over her, gazing down, a ball gag in one hand. She noticed right away that it was a large ball gag… it was going to strain her jaw if he left it on for long.

Good.

Nothing that he saw in her eyes or on her face changed his mind, and he leaned over and buckled the wide leather strap behind her neck with fingers that were careful to sweep all of her hair free of the mechanisms.

She was truly helpless now. She couldn’t have asked him to stop even if she wanted to. He took a moment to stand at the foot of the bed, eyes simply moving over her again as he enjoyed the moment, and Andrea knew that he would have a flawless mental recording of everything that he was about to do. The truth was that, even though his expression was impassive, his eyes were hot and hungry, and an obvious erection marred the line of his trousers.

Whatever his sexual orientation, she was quite certain in this moment that he wanted her.

He quirked a brow at her. “Yes, I do,” he admitted without embarrassment. “You also have to remember that I already know what I plan to do to you.”

He reached into the drawer again and pulled out a pair of paramedic shears. Andrea knew full well what such a pair of scissors was intended for.

Mr. Holmes made short work of her dress, tugging the pieces out from beneath her and discarding the useless remnants into the wastebasket. Now she found herself spread out before him in a very expensive french lace set, stockings and high heels, her dark hair spread over the pillow, her make-up still work-perfect. She knew that the picture that she presented was about as hyper-feminine as it got at the moment.

He smirked slowly, then climbed onto the bed on his knees between her outstretched thighs, placing his hands on the bed on either side of her head, leaning over her.

“I want you just like this right now, Andrea. You’re right that this has never been my primary wheelhouse, but a smart gentleman picks up many and varied skills over the years. You’re going to find that I’m hardly out of my depth.”

With his last four words, he stroked his fingers lightly over the lace above her cleft, pushing down lightly just over her clit. He continued this as he lowered his mouth to her right nipple and thoroughly wet the lace there with his saliva, using its roughness to begin to lightly abrade her sensitive nub.

It felt incredible.

Andrea felt her hips begin to shift, her back to arch as she pushed her breast up harder against his sharp teeth. She couldn’t squirm much, as he’d pulled her limbs too tight, and he clearly intended to start the evening with teasing.

Indeed, the teasing went on for quite a while -- his mouth moving between her nipples as he stroked all around her knickers without sliding into her. She could feel his erection bump occasionally into her thigh, as she knew that she would not if he didn’t want her to. She knew that her knickers were soaked with her own juices, and she was surprised when his mouth began to explore its way downward over her bare ribs toward her belly button.

Her moans were constant now around the gag, which was beginning to make her jaw ache. His mouth took its time at her navel, then explored the musculature of her stomach, and finally the angles of her groin. Fingers still danced across sodden lace, though sometimes his left hand reached up to find and tug on one of her swollen nipples.

She felt him press his tongue firmly against the wet lace above her mons without any hesitation. He lapped slowly upward, letting her feel the slow drag of it. 

She had never hated a panel of fabric so much in her life.

She heard him chuckle, and for a moment the heat and weight of him shifted away and she realized through the haze of her arousal that he was visiting the bedside table yet again. She didn’t see what he took but a moment later she felt the kiss of cold steel against the skin of her hip as he cut away her knickers.

Suddenly her wet pubic hair and folds were exposed to the air and she gave a sigh of relief around the gag. Her eyes were closed, and instead of his returning to any ministrations to her body there was a pause. The blade of the knife again, this time against the soft skin of her breast, and Andrea froze. He used the point of the knife to push the demicups of her bra down under the swell of each breast, finally exposing her nipples as well.

She felt him place the knife on the bed beside her, and she opened her eyes to see him kneeling between her restrained thighs, looking for all the world like he planned to --

“Yes,” he said calmly. “I have to admit, I’m disappointed that you’re so surprised, Andrea. You of all people understand just how much effort I’ve put into making sure that I understand all aspects that motivate human affairs.”

He came forward until his hips were anchored between her spread thighs, then used his hands to yank her up higher on his own thighs. It was uncomfortable for them both, and with deft fingers he unbuttoned his trousers. She felt the thick warm length of him press against the cleft of her labia and she gasped.

Mr. Holmes wasted no time, positioning the swollen head of his member at her entroitus and then pushing into her with one long hard thrust.

A thrust that kept going past the point where she realized that it was quite possible. She hissed and arched as he used a combination of pulling on her hips and driving forward with his own considerable weight for leverage, and she felt a roil of nausea as he encountered her tender cervix. He smiled in satisfaction, adjusted his grip on her, pulled back a bit, and suddenly Andrea saw white and felt bile in the back of her throat when he slammed back into her and began battering at her.

She literally hadn’t been fucked like this in ten years; no, the truth was that she’d never been fucked like  _ this _ . His fingers dug deep into her hips as he continued to use his command of physics and anatomy both against her. She was gargling against the gag, her eyes repeatedly rolling back into her head at the awful pain that he was inflicting on her.

It turned out that he was in for the long haul tonight, and Andrea was stunned by his longevity as he alternated between fucking her in this fashion and using his tongue and mouth to wring a long series of increasingly painful orgasms out of her body. There was nothing she could do but endure it, tears leaking from the corners of her eyes into her hair, tears that he kissed away every once in a while as his fingers worked cruelly at her nipples or he drove himself into her core until he hurt her.

She couldn’t have begun to guess how many hours had passed before Mr. Holmes slowly wound down, coming to rest in the cradle of her thighs, his erection buried deep inside of her.

He suckled idly at one of her bruised nipples and she hissed around the gag, then he kissed his way slowly up her chest and the side of her throat to her stretched lips. He kissed the corner of her mouth, wrinkling his nose at the smell of the gag. His fingers pushed her sweat-damp hair back off her forehead… at the very least he had returned the favor of perspiring, though he managed to look composed in spite of it.

“After you told me that no one had taken you like this in a decade, I thought it might be a good way to mark the occasion,” he said softly against her cheek. “After I strip you of your gender and rebuild you into exactly what I prefer you to be, it’s going to be another ten years until anyone finds use in this part of you again. In fact, if all goes according to my plans, I’m considering taking you like a woman one final time, on our tenth anniversary, before I have that part of you taken away for good by a team of well-bribed surgeons. I think symbols are important to mark the progress of a relationship, don’t you?”

He rocked within her a bit as he spoke, and she could do nothing in return but blink against her tears, staring at him out of terrified blue eyes. 

Mycroft smiled, then he climbed back off the bed again, rebuttoning his trousers. She was acutely aware that he had not yet orgasmed -- she’d lost track of her own long ago, though she was certain that he knew how many he’d wrung from her. He went to the bathroom where she heard him washing his hands. He came back into view eying her intently, drying his hands on a towel that he then tossed aside onto the bureau.

He set to work. First he removed her Pradas, then he used the shears to cut every scrap of lace and silk off of her body. She knew that she was shaking lightly, but it didn’t seem to concern him. Next the miraculous bedside drawer produced nail polish remover and enough cotton balls for him to methodically strip her fingers and toes of color. Andrea stared at the ceiling and concentrated on not having any kind of panic attack. 

Next he produced clippers and a rag and trimmed her nails quite short and neat, taking the time to take care of her cuticles. Receiving a manicure from Mycroft Holmes while tied to his bed was not a scenario that Andrea had ever seen coming, not in five long years of watching this man run the entire nation from a chair in the Diogenes Club.

His face was a mask of concentration as he worked, and once he’d finished ensuring that her toes were to his liking, he then moved swiftly around the bed and released each of the four attachment points.

“Come here,” he said, so she did, and he seated her on the side of the bed. Still frowning in thought he found a clip in his drawer, and swiftly secured her thick sheaf of hair high on the bed of her head.

Next, a leather collar of exquisite craftmanshift, fine but plain, one that could pass as a choker if not for the lock and attachment point at the closure. After it was on he let her hair back down.

“On the bed. Hands and knees this time.” His voice sounded… colder, and Andrea shuddered as she obeyed him. He tied down each limb again, but this time he provided counter-tension between her collar and her ankles, immobilizing her with her arse high in the air.

Then he padded off to the bathroom and came back with several towels and something heavy that he placed on the bed next to the dagger. He took a large white terry towel and spread it out beneath her head and across her bound, outstretched arms, making sure that all of her locks were positioned to fall upon it.

She knew what was coming next. It was obvious what was coming next. She knew what he’d retrieved from the bathroom.

* * *


End file.
